


It's Murder On the Dance Floor (But You Better Not Kill The Groove)

by ryfkah



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011)
Genre: Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where it is absolutely necessary for the sake of the mission that Athos dance with Milady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Murder On the Dance Floor (But You Better Not Kill The Groove)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anathomical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathomical/gifts).



The situation was entirely under control. In just twenty minutes, Aramis would have secured the documents and D'Artagnan's balloon would be in position over the palace to sweep all of the Musketeers away to safety. It was simply a matter of ensuring that, during those twenty minutes, Milady could do nothing to interfere. 

Of course, when it came to Milady, nothing was ever simple. 

Athos leaned back against the wall, taking stock of the situation. Lines of masked dancers leaped their way lightly through the gavotte. He did not know which was Milady, but he had narrowed the possibilities down to two – one wearing a complex costume of greenery with a snake diadem that appeared to represent Eve tempted by the serpent; the other outfitted, quite cleverly, as a map of the world, with her mask shaped like the landmass of Sweden and hair styled as a sweeping fjord. (In no possible sense, thought Athos, rather scornfully, could Sweden claim to be on top of the world politically; even geographically, Norway's land sat higher. The costume was outrageous flattery.) As he watched, Eve stumbled her _petit saut_ , coming down on the wrong foot. Good: that ruled her out. Bad: Sweden was near the end of the line, and could easily slip away without disturbing the rest of the dancers. She knew the Swedish palace much better than any of them. If she left the ballroom, they were ruined. 

Porthos was covering the exit. This would be all well and good, if Porthos was at all capable of covering an exit subtly. Milady would certainly recognize him, even underneath the bear mask that completely covered his head – and once she did, that would give the game away. Then it would become a battle, which of course, in a fair fight, they would win. But Milady did not fight fairly, and she had the Swedish court on her side. Athos frowned, considering his options. Perhaps he should go warn Porthos to beware of the lady in Sweden's mask –

\- but at that moment, the gavotte came to an end, and the musicians paused to lower their bows and gulp down a sip of two of wine. Inspiration came to him, and, seizing his opportunity, Athos plunged forward. In moments, he stood in front of the woman dressed as the world. He extended his gloved hand, and affected the air of a gallant. Porthos was almost certainly laughing under the open jaws of his bear. “Madame, I had always previously considered it to be an unreasonable ambition to partner the whole world in a dance, but it seems I am proved incorrect. Would you do me the honor of joining me in a _danse a deux?_ ”

Unreadable blue eyes assessed him through the holes of the mask of Sweden, and then narrowed slightly. She might have been smiling. He knew, almost certainly, that his attempts to disguise his voice had been fruitless, and perhaps that was why she took his hand. “It would be my honor, Monsieur Orion,” she replied, and with a start he belatedly remembered that he was costumed as a constellation of the night sky. 

If her wrist bent in a certain direction she could almost certainly send a knife down her sleeve directly into his palm. Probably she wouldn't, not right then. It would be difficult to avoid staining her sky-blue dress with blood. 

The musicians struck up again – the introductory stanzas of a sarabande – and he released her hand so that they could make their formal bows to Queen Christina of Sweden. That six-year-old monarch kicked her legs, looking rebelliously ready to get up and hop herself, but her foster mother gave her a stern look and she subsided. Then the sarabande began in earnest. They hopped sedately, swung away from each other with measured steps, and then swirled back the way they had come. “What a sacrifice, Athos,” Milady murmured, as their paths crossed, just low enough for him to hear – and then they were too far away from each other again for her to complete the sentence, and he had to wait another three bars before they were back in a position to converse unheard. As if there had been no interruption, she continued, “The King should reward you for your dedication. Wouldn't you rather dance with a scorpion?” 

They faced each other, fingers almost touching, then skipped past again, and turned. Her full skirts brushed his legs. Every step was cruelly familiar. They had done this before, bowing and skipping before His Majesty the King of France. Then, every step had seemed to be a promise; now it was a threat. “I'd be safer with one,” he answered, letting all his bitterness fill his voice, and saw her smile in response. He dipped in the bow that the music dictated, and saw her mocking curtsey in response before she swirled off again towards the far corners of the room. The dance required movement in parallel; he had no choice but to follow her lead and turn away to echo her, letting her once again out of his sights. 

If they continued to follow the pattern she had set, they would pass each other again, then revert to the opposite corners – where the exit stood. He couldn't let that happen. She knew he was distracting her for some purpose, and soon would make her move to gain the upper hand. 

Calculating furiously, he hopped his way back to the center of the room, circled her, turned, and, before she could retreat again, put his hand on her waist and spun her into another circle. A few courtiers leaned forward, peering from behind their masks and whispering to each other; the sarabande did not call for any physical contact between partners whatsoever. Young Queen Christina yawned. 

Milady, of course, didn't miss a step. Her hand curled around his arm, and dug in cruelly. His grip on her waist wasn't the most gentle hold he'd ever taken either. “You're changing the steps,” said Milady.

“You changed them first,” answered Athos. 

Because they couldn't pull apart, they turned round the room together in giant spinning loops. Her feet hidden by her skirts, Milady delivered an experimental blow to Athos' ankle; of course the tips of her shoes were razor-sharp. He increasing the velocity of their turns in response. The musicians, belatedly, increased the speed of their playing in response. He could hear the mutterings of people around the room. They had never seen a dance like this before, and most of them were scandalized. The Swedish court was not noted for its trend-setting nature. 

Their loops were growing wider now, ranging across the whole of the ballroom. People had to move backwards to make room. Milady was no longer looking at him, but frowned instead down at the floor, as if she were running calculations in her head. On the second beat of the music, she turned herself under his arm; at the same time, she flicked her wrist towards the chandelier that dangled over the ballroom. A grappling wire shot out and wrapped around one of the metal arms. She flew across the dance floor in a graceful turning spin, her shadow flickering in the light of the wobbling candles. 

Athos had been startled into letting go of her, but he wasn't going to be shaken off so easily. He sprinted his way into a slide across the smooth-tiled floor, dropping to his knees to accelerate his velocity – heeled leather boots weren't the optimal sliding costume – and managed to catch Milady's waist with both hands as she descended on the other side of the chandelier. He could hear scattered applause from various locations around the room. An encouraging whistle from the direction of the door could probably be traced to Porthos. Queen Christina sighed, and stifled a yawn. 

Even before she had decided to commit full-time to double-crossing and villainy, Milady had never liked having her dramatic exists ruined. She severed the grappling line with an irritable switch of her fingernails as Athos set her back to the floor. “I tire of this charade,” she muttered, as they began to spin once again. Her right hand was placed on his back, to steady herself. Athos' fingers clamped her left wrist. 

“You have more to lose by dropping it than I do,” Athos answered, and then almost faltered in his footing, as he felt a sudden pressure against the back of his spine. 

“Do you?” whispered Milady. “I think not. The poison on this needle could kill you in ten minutes, if I allowed it to enter your bloodstream.”

Athos said, “For God's sake, just how many ridiculous items have you got concealed up your sleeve?” 

She smiled. “Enough.”

“It seems like overkill to me.”

“Obviously not. Now shall we walk away from this with our respective facades intact, or will I be responsible for your death after all?”

“Do you think I care for that?”

“Oh,” said Milady, “but think about how _cross_ your friends would be. Relax your fingers, please.”

Athos weighed his options. They were few. She might be bluffing – but it was equally likely that she was in perfect earnest. He didn't care a straw for life, but it would grate to be killed like this, with the mission unfinished. 

And besides, it had been at least fifteen minutes, and Aramis' zeppelin would be overhead any minute now.

He loosed his grip.

Milady glanced at the chandelier again – visibly rejected the exit as repetitive – and instead pirouetted her way gracefully, but with extreme rapidity, towards the door. Athos followed, keeping his steps regular, with an effort. As soon as they were in the corridor, there would be running, and probably swordfights, but for now, it was still a dance. 

The confused musicians segued hastily into the closing bars of the sarabande; and as Milady passed out the door, Queen Christina said, quite audibly, “Thank goodness! I thought they'd never be done. Ugh! Why is dancing so dull?”


End file.
